Disclaimer: The following is a fan made parody. Both the Fairy Tail and Fairy Tail Zerø manga are created and owned by Hiro Mashima and Kodansha Comics. The anime is produced by A1 Pictures and licenced by Madman Entertainment, Funimation and Anime Limited. Please support the official release when available in your country.
Any original characters have been created by the author, and any passing resemblance or similarity to real people should be considered coincidental unless stated otherwise. In such an event, it should be considered as a caricature and not an accurate representation of that or those persons.
Alright, how do we start this off? Well I suppose a little bit of background is in order: You've probably had a look at the summary – at least I assume you have, if not go do so, I didn't spend all of thirty seconds on it for you to ignore it – and thought that looks vaguely interesting; then had a look at the filter tags – Rated M, ok should be mature enough, English, yeah I can read that, genres we'll gloss over for the minute, chapters, words and publication/update date aren't important – and seen the pairings tag; Brandish and OC.
Now I know what you're thinking; this is going to be some weeabo who's put himself in the series all mighty and powerful and then have Brandish drop her knickers the first second she sees him. Well you're wrong. First off, this is rated M because it might have mature themes in it later down the line – yes that could mean by the end of the first chapter, could be the next paragraph; even I don't know yet – and I just typically put stuff as M. Second off; I've not put myself into the franchise nor have I made myself uber strong for that matter. No, I've pulled Brandish out of the franchise. More on that later. If it cheers you up though, weeabo is probably an accurate description. So, kudos to you.
Let's go back to the genre filter tags, it's down as humour because the whole theme of this strikes me as though it'd be good as a slice of life comedy. There's one issue – maybe two – with that, it's only slight though, you probably won't even notice it. OK, you ready for it? I don't know how to write comedy. Honestly, it's not as much of an issue as you're thinking. Promise! Wait, what do you mean you want to know what the second issue is? That wasn't part of the deal! OK, fine, the second issue is that I hate slice of life comedy typically. There you go, an insight into my cruel sense of humour; making myself write a genre I don't even like!
Anyway, with those rather minor caveats disclosed let's get to the crux of this little story and what is basically the plot – if you can call it a plot…
Our little story is set in a south coast university town in England. Yes, I'm trying to keep the exact town vague even though that description narrows it down to about one of three cities, and I'll glaze over the fact the exact town is an island and not a city on the mainland. I'll also gloss over the fact that the university was once a polytechnic- so much for ambiguity… Let's just forget about those admissions and focus on what's important.
My name is Alistair, for this story I'm a university student that's just started his second year and already I have a major report to finish, which is what I've just finished working on for today. It had been a particularly tedious and long day in the library. The difficult bit was done about two weeks ago when the whole class had to make their way and conduct fieldwork in the pissing rain in Anglesey, predominantly on our own. Now came the tedious bit; making professional maps for the report.
For anyone that's never drawn a map, here's a tip; get someone else to do it, preferably if they have a graphics tablet. No one in our cohort had one, which meant we had to draw our maps on a computer screen using a mouse. Every tried drawing anything decent on Microsoft Paint? Yeah, that's about the size of the challenge.
Fortunately, I'd had enough after seven or so hours on it. There's only so much click drag, click drag, clicking and bloody dragging one can take for a day after all. On the way home, I'd bought some things for dinner then just powered on for the 20-minute walk between the library and my accommodation.
Where I live is pretty much slap bang in the middle of the city, well almost. Basically if I wanted to go anywhere important to the west; town centre, shopping district, the university or the public docks, it's a 20 minute walk, if I wanted to go to one of the university's outskirt campuses to the east; it's a 20 minute walk, and if I wanted to the seaside to the south; yep, you guessed it, 20 minutes. If I wanted to go to hospital to the north though, that'd be an hour; providing I wasn't dying or missing limbs. That would take a smidge longer to walk or hop.
The area isn't the nicest in town, yes, it's in a desirable neighbourhood, but it's in the north of said neighbourhood: Which means it's on the border with one of the roughest neighbourhoods and the influence from one on the other is skewed in the dodgy one's favour annoyingly. It is convenient though so can't complain too much, especially as work is a hop skip and a jump away at the local football club.
The house itself is a two-storey terraced in the middle of the street, built in the Victorian era I think. Originally it was a three-bedroom joint, but with the local poly being upgraded to a university a lot of houses have been converted into student lets, particularly in this area, if the ever-present stench of cannabis is anything to go by.
Where once upon a time my house had a proper living room downstairs, it's now been butchered into two bedrooms with the kitchen doubling up as the living space instead. At least in the landlord's mind it does; a dilapidated sofa does not a living room make.
I share the house with four other students and an immigrant – more on him later – and we rub along pretty well. None of us are that outgoing, some are more than others, but we aren't the type to host house parties till four AM. Three of us have lived in this house for a year already, having met at a Student Union housing association thing, myself being one of them, and the other three joined us at the end of September. One of the new three is a mate from my course, one is his flatmate from last year and the immigrant sort of tagged along with him.
At this point I'm hoping you've noticed the glaring flaw in my maths; three bed house, converted into a five-bed house, but there are six of us. Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to the three of us that stayed for this year when my mate's mate turned up with his migrant mate, but we collectively went with; 'Ok, just don't tell the landlord – make yourself scarce when he's here – and if HMRC come knocking for council tax; they're your problem.' Fortunately, he's an EU national which means if anyone did come knocking we wouldn't have to choose between HMRC or the Border Force. Would be a whole different kettle of fish if this was 2021…
So, who are we six? Well, there's me who lives above the kitchen. You're going to learn about me as we go on, so I won't bore you with the details here. There's Wee Thomas, the electrical engineer that lives downstairs closest to the kitchen. Poor Jimmy, the forensic psychologist who lives above the front door on the opposite end of the hallway to me, we make up the original triumvirate if you will. We then have my course-mate Posh Kieran who lives downstairs right at the front of the house – unlucky mate! Finally, we have Hairy Daniel the media person and Czech Iggy both of whom ended up with the smallest room in the house between Jimmy and I upstairs, despite them being the biggest lads out of all of us.
If you're wondering what the epithets are for, blame Jimmy as he started it off by jokingly calling Kieran Posh Twat – that's the polite version of what he called him by the way – when he was cooking pheasant one day. From there we all ended up with Twat names in a twisted homage to the Spice Girls. Jimmy got Poor from me as a counter to Kieran's Posh, Tom got Wee because despite being the oldest before Dan and Iggy moved in he was the shortest. Dan got Hairy because despite having the most body hair of all of us, he's balding on top. Iggy got Czech because he's Polish. It was his idea, not mine. What's mine you ask? We were going to go with Ginger originally, issues with that though were a) there's already Ginger Spice and we wanted something unique, and b) Ginger Ali sounds like a brothel. Huh, on retrospect probably should've gone with that… We went with Miserable in the end because of my brilliantly depressing and morbid sense of humour. Yeah, should've gone with Ginger in hindsight.
Once I made it home, I went straight to the kitchen to put the provisions away in my cupboard and the shared fridge. Walking past Kieran's room, I'd found it odd there wasn't a light on as he'd left the library at about lunch time. In the kitchen Tom was microwaving something at the time, we exchanged pleasantries as had become custom.
"You alright mate?" I don't know why we southerners do this as a greeting, or why the accepted response is 'you alright?' back, but it just seems to be the regional standard. None of us were what you'd call conventional southern though so usually we'd get an actual answer to the question.
"Yeah, I'm alright. You alright?" Thomas was not the talkative type; you had to engage him in conversation otherwise you'd get nothing out of him. I think that was one of the other reasons why Jimmy labelled him as Wee Twat.
"Not too bad. Is Kieran in do you know, there's no light on in his room?"
"I thought we was going home this weekend?"
"Oh of course he is! Forgot he was going to see a concert tomorrow." See, this is important to the plot here. Because Posh and I are on the same course, we talk with each other more than the rest of our housemates – except for Hairy and Czech because the two had to share a room. Typically, Kieran would come up to my room if he wanted a second opinion about an assignment we had to do. Not because I'm the smarter of the pair, we're of similar intellect if grades are any indication – if anything I reckon Posh is slightly more intelligent than me; but don't tell him I said that!
Anyhow, Tom soon left the kitchen and I quickly followed, heading straight for my room – it would've been strange if I'd followed Tom into his room. I must say I got hellish lucky with my room; south facing, furthest away from the street, probably tied for second largest and because the kitchen below was extended it meant I had a makeshift balcony. The only downside is that it was the only large room without a double-bed.
I should probably explain at this point as well that Dan and Iggy share a room, not a bed by the way. Not sure what their sleeping arrangement is but that's not important right now, nor will it ever be!
Having finally made my way to the closest thing to home I had whilst at university – yes, I consider my room home, not the house – it was now time to kick back and relax. When you walk into my room this is what you'll see: Directly in front of you is a 38" LCD TV sat atop a chest of drawers, behind the door is a stack of shelves with a cupboard next to it, in front of the cupboard is a full length mirror next to which is a desk with an office chair in the middle of the room. The single bed is next to the window, perpendicular to the desk.
At this point – 2000 plus words in – I suspect you're foaming at the mouth wondering what any of this has to do with Fairy Tail, or if I've posted this by accident on as opposed to . Worry not! This is where the 'magic' starts.
As today is Friday, that means the latest chapter gets published – illegally – across various dodgy websites in English for those of us that can't read Japanese. Just going to throw this out there though; if you enjoy any manga series, support the author by buying the volumes when they're available in your country. Wait, what do you mean FT's finished? Ah, probably should've mentioned that this is happening in the past when it was still going.
I started my laptop up on my bed – it's far comfier than the office chair – connected it to the TV before loading up one of the scanlator websites and subsequently the chapter cover page of the latest FT chapter. Before reading the chapter though I got distracted by YouTube… Yeah, YouTube and definitely not the wank-bank. I may have lost track of time slightly as it was pitch black in my room except for the light of the two screens. Realising that I needed a light on, as well as to start making dinner, I left the scanlator tab open on the TV screen and made the executive decision to go and be productive. Oh, how such a simple decision can change your life.
Pro tip; if you've got really long thighs – like over a foot long – and a history of minor hip problems, never sit cross-legged. Standing up was an instant regret as my hips had forgotten that they were supposed to keep the top half above the lower half. Stumbling over I reached out to grab onto something solid: I'd aimed for the top of the chest of drawers. I may have missed slightly.
"Oh shit," Based on the sound of metal on wood, I was fairly convinced I'd hit the tele, resulting in it rocking back and forth. I was also completely convinced that my hand had gone through the screen as I could feel whatever an LCD screen is made of around halfway up my right forearm. I really did not want to look at it, until it dawned on me that I'd not gone up in a blue light nor were there sparks flying around setting the carpet on fire.
Looking at the screen my arm was in it, a ripple effect spread across the screen like one of those cliché scenes in just about every dramatic film, TV series or anime ever when a leaf or droplet of water falls in a pond. The other thing that surprised me, in conjunction with the lack of sparks and fire, was that I couldn't feel the wall behind the TV. Now I should explain that my TV was considered as a flat screen when it was new in like 2010ish, but it must've been about four inches deep. Trust me on this; from the end of my middle finger to halfway up my forearm is more than four inches.
"OK, pretty sure that's not what's supposed to happen when you put your hand through a screen." I thought aloud when I glanced around the back and saw that true enough, my arm hadn't come out the back casing. Flicking the light on made me realise that it was almost as if my arm was stuck in quick mud – which for those of you not geologically inclined is pretty similar to quicksand only not quite as quick as Hollywood likes to make you believe – because my arm was not budging out of the screen, at least not without a lot of effort.
Despite knowing that if this was quick mud that the dumbest option would be to put my other hand in it, I went to put my left hand in it. However, when I reached out to do so, my fingertips touched the screen as if it was still solid, and no amount of pressure was changing that fact.
At this point I just grasped hold of the top of the TV with my left hand, placed my left foot at the base of the chest of drawers, my right foot parallel to it and just decided to heave my arm out with brute force. On retrospect, I'm so glad I didn't just decide to pick my geology hammer up and take the business end of it to the screen! Using the purchase provided by my left foot's position in addition to abdominal strength I could feel my arm slip out of the screen. I realised then that the screen felt slippery around the circumference of the patch of skin it was contacting, however I could see and feel from the few centimetres I'd recovered that my skin wasn't wet. Nor was it sticky, thank god!
At the same time, I realised there was something grasped around my wrist. Having done fourteen years' worth of karate I recognised the feeling of another hand holding my wrist without seeing it. Flexing my hand around in the ether I found the wrist of the hand holding mine and grabbed back, however the other hand didn't flinch nor did it grasp harder.
"I don't know who or what you are, but can I have my hand back, please!" My protests must've fallen on deaf ears as they didn't oblige my request. Whilst negotiating the release of my hand I continued to pull it out of the TV anyway. In doing so, the offending hand began to emerge still attached to my wrist. It had beautifully supple white skin, which then made me realise just how soft their skin was, as well as this I could see that they were wearing purple nail polish, on their thumbnail at least.
I decided to change tactics a little bit, standing on my right leg I put my left foot on the front of one of the draws and pushed against it whilst at the same time pulling with my right arm. Obviously, I must have managed to make the chest move as it hit the radiator behind it. "C'mon, give me my hand. I really don't want to have to explain this to any of my flatmates!" Passive aggressive whispering didn't do anything either. Realising that brute force was doing more than negotiation I doubled my efforts and with one last simultaneous push and pull my hand was freed! From the TV. The hand from beyond the box still had a hold of it… Hurray for small victories I suppose?
Two options sprung to mind – well three, but the third one involved my geology hammer, and without elaborating too much but still getting the point across as to why it's a dumb idea; I'm right handed – the first option was to use my grip on their wrist to force theirs to slacken, then the second was to use my left hand to pry their fingers off. Despite the hammer option, I didn't want to hurt them strangely; all this hand had done was hold onto my wrist. There'd been no malicious act otherwise. Rightly or wrongly I went with prying their hand open.
Much to my surprise whoever the rogue hand belonged to didn't attempt to re-latch onto me and thus my hand was free! Even further to my surprise though was what happened next: The hand didn't just flop or fall back into the screen like I'd kind of expected it to. Instead it just hung their limply.
Being ever the pragmatist, I weighed my options up: Leave the arm there and hope no one notices when they pop their head round my door, push the arm back in and forget this ever happened, or pull the arm along with who or whatever it belongs to completely out and live with the consequences potentially for the rest of my life. I went with the second option.
Slight issue with that though; no matter what I did, it would not budge backwards at all. Left, right, up, down or forward were no issue at all, but could I get it to return from once it came? Could I fuck. However, when I'd accidentally pulled it out slightly a hiked-up sleeve started to come through. Looking at the material, specifically the style and colour of it, got my curiosity up. It was a brownish gold colour with purple flower-like patterns arranged seemingly at random. Against my better judgement, I pulled the material down toward the wrist, where I could see that the opening was quite wide and draped.
Quite why I'm going into such detailed description is beyond me right now, as you know as well as I do who's arm this is hanging out of my tele. However, I am nothing if not stubborn. As such I shall continue with it even if it is an exercise in futility!
Grabbing hold of the arm with both hands I started pulling on it, this eventually led to a head of green hair to emerge complete with bluish purple crosses on either side.
"Holy shit…" Realising who it was – let's face it; green hair, crosses either side, frilly sleeved jacket with floral type pattern in an FT fanfic does kind of give it away – I redoubled my efforts, being careful with their head until I managed to get their shoulders out. Once I could get my hands under their armpits, pulling them out became so much easier.
Now, with where my arms are, and you having guessed who it is in them, you're probably expecting some sort of comment or joke about said person's breasts. Yeah, not happening. I'm saving them for later. The comments and jokes. I'm saving the comments and jokes for later! Gawd!
When her legs started to emerge, I moved around so that my left arm could keep hold of them whilst keeping her upper body up with my right. Basically, I'd be carrying her bridal style once her knees were out.
Having pulled the woman out of the TV, I proceeded to place her on my bed, firstly checking to see if she was breathing which thankfully she was, looking at her it appeared that she was asleep. Secondly, I took her sandals off – I don't care who she is, no one is having their shoes on my bed –thirdly I faffed about to get her coat off, placing it on the hook on the back of my door, leaving her in her matching brownish gold spotted bikini, before finally placing the duvet over her.
Taking a step back I regarded her serene face. It looked so peaceful, when finally, the penny dropped:
"Fuck me, I just pulled Brandish Mu out of my TV!"
Author's Notes (A/N):
Right, that seems as good a place as any to stop for the time being. I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter, I've enjoyed writing it at least.
The whole purpose of this work is to see if I can write comedy, or at the very least humour. Personally, I believe that humour is the most difficult genre to convey, along with romance, primarily because my sense of humour is based predominantly on sarcasm, dry wit and black humour, all of which can be an acquired taste. Couple that with my idiolect and it can come across as whatever the opposite of funny is; serious or God forbid; boring. As well as this, it's difficult to find something you've come up with comical. Or at least I find that.
The rest of this fic depends on how it is received by you dear reader. If you enjoyed it, but didn't find it humorous, then I'll continue it in the general category but attempt to put the odd comedic element in as opposed to trying to make the majority funny.
It's with trepidation that I look forward to feedback, be that in the form of a review, a favourite or an alert. Regardless of how well it is received I shall at least work on the elements I have in my head now, both of which should appear in the next chapter. If you have any questions, you can leave them in a review or DM me and I'll try to answer them to the best of my ability next chapter.
Until then, thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!